


Cold turkey

by Laramie



Category: Downton Abbey
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Child Abuse, Domestic Violence, Friendship, Gen, M/M, Pining, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-17
Updated: 2016-07-17
Packaged: 2018-07-24 13:59:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,214
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7511045
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Laramie/pseuds/Laramie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Thomas should know better than to drink around Jimmy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Cold turkey

**Author's Note:**

> Short and angsty and unlikely to be continued. Semi-inspired by http://thomasalexandermarshall.tumblr.com/post/134616068798
> 
> Unrequited/ambiguous thommy.
> 
> Note the trigger warnings of alcoholism and domestic violence/child abuse.

Thomas should know better than to drink around Jimmy.

He should, but he doesn't.

He should remember that just half a pint renders him incapable of not staring at Jimmy, raking his eyes over the man's body as though he's a photograph who can't notice or protest.

He should remember this, but he never does.

Once a week or so, Jimmy brings a bottle of wine or even whiskey into Thomas's room, or else insists upon them going to the pub - to celebrate a day off, or a birthday, or a piece of trivially positive news he has read in the paper. And Thomas keeps his hands studiously to himself but by the time a drink is inside him he's gazing at Jimmy: his face, his gorgeous smile, his beautiful hands, his perfect arse. He imagines pulling Jimmy's livery into disarray, finally getting another look at Jimmy's flawless chest and stomach and back. He imagines pressing his lips and tongue to the swell of Jimmy's pectorals and - and - and then he smokes desperately in an attempt to get the images out of his head.

Today, Jimmy, who has been snappy and maudlin by turns since lunchtime, is lying face-down on Thomas's bed, while Thomas rocks occasionally on his desk chair and tries not to think too much about kissing the back of Jimmy's neck as he lies there. Jimmy has had at least three measures of whiskey and Thomas has a suspicion that he sneaked another one when Thomas went to the bathroom. Thomas is still nursing his second, rocking back on two legs of the desk chair and picturing Jimmy in the exact same position he is now, but with far less clothes.

"Thomas?" Jimmy says faintly, breaking a silence which has been drifting between them for several minutes.

"Mmm?" Thomas prompts distractedly, now imagining gently biting the backs of Jimmy's thighs.

But the silence between them returns, holding for at least ten seconds until Jimmy says, his voice higher than usual: "I think I drink too much."

Guilt cuts through Thomas's tipsiness at the realisation that while his thoughts have been full of lust, Jimmy's mind has been on something so serious. "You drink little more than me," he points out.

"I do, though," Jimmy says. His arms come up to encircle his head, as if to protect it, and it hides his face completely as he goes on rapidly: "You know most times before I come in here, I have a drink before we even start, and then I'll be sitting at dinner and thinking about brandy in coffee and whether you can put it in tea and this morning I drank a mug of wine before I came down for breakfast and it's not even the first time I've done that and I _can't stop_." He peeks under one arm at Thomas, the glint of his eye wide and scared.

At first, Thomas is too busy staring in horror to process Jimmy's fear. Memories are flitting through his mind, so clear he might as well be looking through a photo album. His father, having a few too many at his mother's birthday party, starting a fight with one of her brothers and landing a punch on Thomas, even once the fight was over, as Thomas tried to lead him away. His older sister, leaving home at fourteen because when their father had found out she was pregnant out of wedlock he had disappeared, returned three hours later reeking of whiskey and beer, and thumped her in the stomach; the baby had survived and she had married its father but she had never brought the child home to show them. His younger sister, beaten and blue and ten years old, begging Thomas to stop their father. His mother with a split lip, smiling though it must have made the wound sting, saying that Ted didn't mean it, it was the alcohol whispering things in his ears.

His father, purple-faced with rage, that time he had broken Thomas's arm.

His father, like an unexploded mine when he was sober, a perpetually firing shrapnel bomb when he was drunk.

Thomas's chair thuds back onto four legs. Thomas stands, taking semi-conscious backwards steps closer to the door. Old instincts are taking over again, even though Jimmy looks small and defeated. Thomas can barely hear his own thoughts over the pounding in his ears, but he dimly registers that Jimmy's shoulders are shaking. Jimmy has hidden his face again, but as the past recedes, Thomas begins to hear soft gasping and sniffing - the unmistakable sounds of someone trying to cry silently.

It takes a few seconds of deliberate breathing before Thomas can even say helplessly: "Jimmy…" It's the best he can do to soothe the other man without touching him.

"Please, Thomas," Jimmy whispers, interrupted by quiet hiccups. "I need your help."

"Maybe you should talk to a doctor," Thomas says, because he has no other ideas.

Jimmy shakes his head rapidly before sitting up, hunching over miserably. "My mum - after dad died, she - she couldn't cope. All they did was give her stuff to make her sleep and she was like a ghost and I swear that's why the flu took her. 'M not doing it. I can't."

"But then, I don't know what _I_ can do." Thomas drags his recently vacated chair closer to the bed and sits on it again. "What d'you want me to do, love?" The endearment slips through by accident, but Jimmy doesn't react to it.

"I need…" Jimmy's twisting the bottom of his pyjama top in his hands. "I need someone to stop me, make sure I'm not buying it at the pub or drinkin' it b'fore I come downstairs. Just be there all the time and make sure I can't have it but - but it's not fair to ask it of you when I know… how… how you feel - but if Mr Carson finds out I'll lose me job and I just -" He finally breaks off. His shoulders become even rounder as he whispers: "Sorry."

Thomas gazes at the desolation on Jimmy's face. For a few seconds, he's so twisted up inside he can't speak. He risks a hesitant hand on Jimmy's knee and says gently: "You can ask anythin' of me."

Jimmy's gaze flickers up unhappily to Thomas's face. "That's exactly why it's selfish of me," he mumbles.

"It's not selfish," Thomas tells him. "If you need me, I'm here - simple as that."

"'M here for you too," Jimmy mutters, winning a small smile from Thomas.

However, the intensity of their conversation is making Thomas antsy. "That's what mates are all about," he says briskly as he stands up again, because he may still _want_ Jimmy, but that doesn't mean that they aren't true, deep friends. "Let's take this away, for a start," he adds, picking up the dregs of Jimmy's whiskey in its glass and tossing the liquid unceremoniously out of the window. He imagines it landing on Lady Mary's head. When he turns back to Jimmy, he concludes: "You and I are going cold-turkey."

Jimmy sags back against the headboard in relief. "Thank you," he whispers faintly.

Thomas restrains himself from touching Jimmy's knee again and simply repeats: "That's what mates are all about."


End file.
